


After

by slightly_ajar



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Discussions of grief, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father + Son + Father + Matriarch, I made myself sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_ajar/pseuds/slightly_ajar
Summary: Set just after Father + Son + Father + Matriarch.  Each of the team react to the events of the mission.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Desiree "Desi" Nguyen
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	After

**Author's Note:**

> This could be seen as following another of my stories, [Paths Are Made](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196835) but it isn't necessary to read that story first.

James closed his eyes and twisted the switch. 

He didn’t expect to feel anything. Not pain, not heat, nothing. He expected to just be gone, his atoms obliterated, then silence and darkness. He wouldn’t exist anymore except in the memories of the people who’d known him. 

Instead when the explosion flared he felt fingers brush the grip he had on the ignition button then a hand, soft and warm, stroke his cheek. 

Perfume filled the air, a scent he hadn’t smelled for so long. He didn’t dare hope. He didn’t believe in this. He’d secretly dreamed of it but he was a scientist, the notion was fanciful, impossible. He kept his eyes firmly closed because it couldn’t be and opening them to find that she wasn’t there would be devastating. 

A voice spoke his name, one he hadn’t heard for too many years and had missed every day. She kissed his forehead and he could feel that she was smiling. 

“James.” 

  


Matty pushed open the door and walked into the office. It was empty except for the desk and chair that had been pushed against a wall and her footsteps echoed in the stark room. It hadn’t been occupied when the Phoenix had returned. It never would be now. Maybe it should stay empty, Matty thought, like a memorial. 

“You okay?” Russ’ voice came from behind her. 

“This office used to be his. Before. I've spent a lot of time in here with him talking, planning, strategizing, arguing. There was a lot of arguing.” Matty smiled. They’d had some glorious disagreements in that space, him and her, and had bickered their way around, through and about situations that had saved lives over and over again. James had always met her eye when he’d challenged her, she respected that. There was a lot about James that she respected; less that she approved of but he had his methods and his reasons and she’d seen a man who loved his son under his layers of stubbornness, reticence and emotional distance. 

“I’m sorry about your friend.” Russ said. 

Matty didn’t think she could describe James as her friend. They’d certainly never socialised together. But he was someone who had been in her life for a long time, someone she knew well and someone she cared for. 

Russ folded his arms across his chest in a casual ‘oh, by the way’ gesture, “I happened to stash a very good bottle of single malt in my desk yesterday. I also have two glasses in my drawer. How would you feel about having a sneaky indulge with me? I feel that the day calls for it, don’t you?” 

“Yes it does.” Matty agreed. “I’d like that. Thank you.” 

  
  


Bozer locked his front door behind him then threw his keys on the dresser next to where he’d hung his coat. He walked through his home flicking each light switch and turning on every lamp until his apartment was filled with light. 

He didn’t know why he needed to do that but the urge to chase away every shadow was too strong to ignore. He felt like he had when he’d been tucked up in bed as a child and although he’d known the shadow looming in the corner of his room that looked like a killer clown was really just a pile of clothes he had to turn his light on to check. To be certain. He’d know monsters weren’t real. He’d known the threatening looking shape was made of sweaters and socks but still, he needed to see it under a shining light to feel safe. 

When every light blazed Bozer stood in the middle of his kitchen considering his second urge. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and thumbed through his contacts. His father’s number was saved as a favourite. He knew that his dad was okay, he and his mom had probably settled down in front of the TV and his dad would either be shouting out the answers to the quiz show they were watching or falling asleep half way through a movie, insisting later that he hadn’t, ‘I was just resting my eyes, I listened to everything that happened!’. Bozer’s dad was solid, dependable and normal. He would never be found defending the world from a dangerous terrorist organisation that threatened the lives of millions of people. Bozer had never been happier that his dad was an ordinary person. He pressed the call button on his phone. 

He knew his dad was okay but sometimes knowing wasn’t enough. Sometimes you had to turn on the lights so you could clearly see that the danger only existed in your imagination. Bozer felt sure that the knot clenching just above his heart would ease when he heard his dad’s voice

“Wilt,” his father said when the call connected, “how are you, is everything okay?” 

“I’m fine dad, how are you?” 

  
  


Riley zipped her hoodie up to her chin. The ten minutes of pacing she’d done when she’d arrived home from the Phoenix had needed to stop before the restless, meaningless action drove her mad. She’d washed her face and changed into her most comfortable clothes - her favourite pyjamas, fluffy socks and a hoodie that was too big for her. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun on the top of her head but dragged the band out after only a few seconds. It was too tight and the pull on her scalp was maddening. Her fingers pulled at the tangles left in her hair then twitched at her sides. 

“What are you doing?” Riley closed her eyes and spoke to herself out loud. “Stop this.” 

She grabbed the blanket on the bottom of her bed and wrapped it round her shoulders as she sat cross legged by her pillows. It wasn’t cold but she wanted to feel something soft and familiar tucked around her. 

It could have been weird to be in the room that used to be Bozer’s. When Riley had moved her things into it after the very polite and excruciatingly awkward conversation she and Aubrey had shared when she’d collected them from their - his - apartment she’d leaned against the bedroom wall thinking about how the space had been Bozer’s for years. Could she make it her own? Should she? Was it rude somehow to take over his presence in Mac’s home? Would she feel like an intruder? 

Mac obviously didn’t have any of these worries because he greeted her in the kitchen the next morning like they’d been roommates for years. He’d made an effort, the cupboards were filled with food, including two different types of cereal and the raisin bread she liked. They’d grunted good morning to each other over their coffees and it had felt like she was home. 

Riley didn’t have siblings but friends had told her about moving into their older brother or sister’s bedrooms after they’d left home. They’d described how exciting it had been, like an important step in becoming an adult, and Riley finally understood what they’d meant. It felt a little like she’d inherited the newly empty bedroom down the hall and it was her turn to occupy a space that someone she loved had given her. It was exactly what she needed, independence and family at the same time. 

Riley leaned over and pulled the photo album Elwood had given her out of the dresser next to her bed. It must have travelled with him to all the seedy hotel rooms and cheap apartments he’d stayed in, the spine was cracked and a musty smell lingered in it’s hard backed cover. Her dad must have looked at it often, with a drink in one hand, with hands that shook from withdrawal, as he was debating whether or not to call her and if she’d forgive him. The album held pictures of her on her own and with her mom and only a handful had her dad in. It could have been that he was the one taking the photographs but it was more likely that he hadn’t been there at all. 

Elwood had found a few months’ work doing a job that had taken him out of state. He sent her texts a few times a week with questions about how she was doing, comments on the weather or the traffic, and terrible jokes. She always replied. 

He was doing okay, he hadn’t slipped and had a drink and he did really seem committed to being a better person and father. Riley was proud of him. 

She turned over another page to a picture of her and her mom on Christmas morning when she was three. She ran a finger over her mom’s sleepy smile. Maybe she should make herself a new album, Riley thought. She could print out some photos and create her own scrapbook. The next photo was the picture of her on her first day at Kindergarten where she was stood at her front door with a backpack and a look of determination. Her dad’s photos were of the past, it would be good to have some of her present. 

She could capture her family and keep them tucked up inside the pages of an album, neat and clean, and they’d smile out at her from every page and be exactly where she’d left them. She could put the pictures in a drawer where they would stay safe, never taking any risks, never going out one day and not coming back. The happiness in the photos would last forever. 

Riley put the photo album down with careful reverence and picked up her phone. She snuggled further into her blanket as she selected her gallery app and started looking through her pictures. 

  
  


It wasn’t often that Desi was pleased about Mac’s lack of home security. In fact, she had never been pleased about Mac’s lack of home security. They’d had conversations about upgrading his alarm system and installing more safety measures; those conversations usually featured her saying things like, “A nine year old with a grudge could break in here,” “Are you actively looking to get kidnapped again?” and “I mean, seriously though,” and gesturing around her in frustration. Mac would shrug and make a spluttering, tutting sound and nothing would change. She was never sure why he was so reluctant to make alterations to his house. It wasn’t arrogance, he didn’t think that he was too good for anyone who tried to break in; it wasn’t naivety, he was fully aware of how dangerous the world could be, especially for someone who did what he did. Desi had watched and listened and decided that Mac didn’t want to live in somewhere secured with all the bolts and chains of a prison. For him home meant freedom and he couldn’t be free behind locked doors. 

She put her lock picks back into her pocket and stepped into the house. It was the first time she’d ever been pleased that the door was so easy to get through. 

The house was silent and dark and Desi padded through it carefully on high alert for...she didn’t know what for. She didn’t know what was going to happen or what she would find. Mac could be furious and ranting, unsettled and wildly agitated or silent and frozen with shock. All she did know was that he was suffering. 

“Mac?” Desi knocked on his bedroom door twice and pushed it open. 

The bedroom light was on, the bed was neatly made and the room was in it’s usual disorder of projects and half-finished ideas. Mac was sat on his bed with his feet firmly on the floor, his head down and his eyes fixed on the phone he was clutching. 

“I should be calling people,” he didn’t look up. He didn’t seem surprised at Desi’s sudden appearance in his room. It was like he wasn’t able to be shocked, not anymore, like he’d reached the very limit of the distress he could feel. “That’s what you do after someone dies. You call people to let them know their friend or loved one has passed away. And you call the bank and the post office about mortgage payments and cancelling mail.” 

“Mac.” Desi brushed a hand over his hair, he didn’t react. 

“I don’t have anyone to call.” Mac’s voice was hollow, his deadened words directed at the blank phone in his hands. “I don’t know what bank my dad used. He probably didn’t have a bank account or if he did it’ll be under an assumed name that I don’t know. His doctor will need to know about what’s happened too, and his oncologist, I haven’t been to any chemo sessions with him so I don’t know who he’s been seeing.” 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, it’s the kind of thing Matty will take care of.” Desi dropped to a crouch in front of Mac to try to meet his eye. “Mac?” 

Head resolutely down, hair covering his eyes, jaw tense, Mac turned his phone over and over in his fingers. 

“And I don’t have any family to talk to, unless you count a long lost, psychopathic aunt, and I don’t. So I’ve just been sat here holding my phone because there’s nothing else I can do.” 

Desi took the phone from Mac’s cold fingers and laid it aside. Then she took his hands and sat on the mattress beside him facing his profile. He understood her message, or just acted instinctively, and shifted his weight so he was almost facing her. 

I’m sorry,” she raised one of his hands to drop a kiss on the back of it, “I’m very sorry about your dad.” 

“He was a difficult person to like,” Mac shook his head, his breathing speeding up. “He was arrogant, taciturn and secretive. He didn’t trust anyone and he was never completely honest,” his chest rose and fell in sharp uncontrolled jerks, “half the time I’d wish he would get to the point and the other half I’d want him to just shut up. He thought he was enigmatic when he was actually just infuriating, he had the emotional intelligence of potassium permanganate,” Mac sagged forward like his muscles were giving out under a heavy load, “and I’ll never talk to him again.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Desi pulled Mac to her. She rested his head on her shoulder and stroked the back of his hair. 

“He-” Mac choked out. 

“I know. It’s okay, baby I know.” Desi folded Mac in her arms. He clung to her, face pressed into her neck, the fabric of her shirt bunching in his clenched fist. 

They held each other tightly, Desi offering as much comfort as she could, Mac desperate to feel anything other than lost and alone. 

Desi usually helped people using her skills with her fists, her feet or a gun but there was nothing for her to fight. Thete were no enemy to confront, nothing for her to take her rage at the unfairness of it all out on, just shock, grief and heartbreak. She leaned back so that Mac was cradled in her arms. She could still do everything she could to protect the person she loved. Her mother’s song had always helped her and it had given Mac comfort in the past. She started to sing.


End file.
